


Admiration

by imagesofrapture



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed II, Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-05-02 10:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14542305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagesofrapture/pseuds/imagesofrapture
Summary: Somewhat standalone chapters in which we see Ezio begin to fall in love with Leonardo through the way he admires his closest friend.





	1. Quiet Night

**Author's Note:**

> My first work ever!!!! I'm super rusty so I'm sorry if it's not that good. 
> 
> **edit: I'm fonder of the second chapter more. It's a little lengthier but I hope you guys enjoy that too :) PLEASE PLEASE let me know what you think

“Ezio! _Dio mio_ , it has been far too long!” the polymath exclaimed, stepping aside to allow his cowled friend in with a gleaming simper.

The assassin nodded his head courteously to the artist, unable to hide the grin that shone on his gruff features when he noted that “far too long” had meant three mere days. Once the door shut behind him, the Auditore was pulled into the surprisingly robust arms of the inventor; his warm embrace had become customary at this point.

Much to Ezio’s dismay, Leonardo would occasionally neglect to check the younger man for any injuries before bear-hugging him; the former nobleman never had it in him to be upset over it, though. Luckily, tonight was not one of those nights that he would stumble into the bottega with a wound in dire need of cleansing and stitching.

It was rather unusual of Ezio to put off his contracts, but recently, he had grown somewhat weary of the interminable chase across Venezia’s skyline. The endings of which rarely ever changed: his hidden blade in the jugular of a shocked, bleeding target, a multitude of guards barking after him as he narrowly evaded their arrows and broadswords. Tonight was different. Tonight, Ezio did not come back with any fresh wounds or cuts, nor guards he desperately needed sanctuary from. Just another Codex page, though he had forgotten what had suddenly spurred his intrigue in the ever elusive scrolls.

The da Vinci tensed momentarily into their embrace before pulling away slowly. Ezio cocked a brow at the abrupt loss of contact, eyeing the older man curiously.

“ _Che cos’è_?”

Ezio’s hands still remained on the small of his friend’s back. Leonardo’s palms found themselves on the inside of the assassin’s pristine cloak, eliciting a sharp gasp from the younger man. Why were they standing so close?

“Leonardo, what are you do––”

“Aha!” The other exclaimed proudly, extricating his grip from the other’s attire to reveal the Codex page Ezio had retrieved earlier that evening, “Another one! How exciting!”

Without hesitation, the scientist turned on his heel towards one of his cluttered workbenches on the opposite end of the bottega. Splaying the Codex on top of a pile of old, wrinkled parchment, he began tracing the page with an index tarnished by charcoal. Neither of them were aware of the involuntary blush that shaded the hooded man’s cheeks.

“Hmmm, what if I tried…” he reached for a slab of glass to mirror the scroll, “ _Affascinante_ …”

The assassin huffed in amusement, finding himself a seat by the hearth on the opposite end of the bottega. Ezio pulled back his cowl as he propped himself up on the plush, velvet material. Whipping flames danced in his gleaming, brown hues as he watched the mastermind mumble and meander, intrigued by what others would have dismissed as a mere scroll.

“ _Grazie_ for bringing this to me, Ezio. It is a tricky one, indeed,” Leonardo called out to him, not once looking up from the page he had begun to transcribe.

The blue-eyed man hovered over the workbench for nearly two hours, forehead knit together in determination as he jotted down a rough translation on a separate parchment. The Auditore drifted in and out of sleep, waking up to the sound of incessant scribbling against worn out paper. Each time he raised his head, he would find the artisan narrowing his eyes at the work below him, thumb and index stroking his bearded chin as he mulled over each line of manuscript. A trace of charcoal would remain where his thumb had left.

Ezio admired the noticeable contrast in his companion’s countenance from its usual gaiety. Now, it was an equally familiar display of determination and thought. Occasionally, though, the painter’s fairer attributes would light up whenever he reached a breakthrough in the Codex’s cryptic nature.

It took a while, but Ezio finally remembered why he had even gone through the trouble of acquiring this page, and many pages before.


	2. Music

The first time Ezio had entered the bottega unannounced through one of its windows, Leonardo did not hesitate to give him an earful, imploring the assassin to spare him the heart attack. Despite the da Vinci’s insistence that it was only polite him to knock, he continued to somehow “materialize,” as Leonardo had put it, in the middle of his workshop. Foregoing manners was quite Ezio’s forte.

The night was still young when he came around this time. When he walked in, he’d most likely find the inventor in one of several states: huddled over a disorderly stack of notes legible only to himself, sketching prototypes of an invention that came to him on a whim, with unfamiliar tools, possibly tinkering away at said prototypes, in one of the back chambers, studying cadavers that reeked of something worse than the city’s trademark canal stench, in front of a canvas that should have been in the hands of its commissioner months ago, or sometimes, even asleep.

Ezio was inches away from finally indulging the other’s wishes by knocking on his front door when he heard an unfamiliar sound from the inside of the workshop. The man’s fist returned to his side as he leant toward the mahogany to gain a better listen. To his surprise, the noise was not that of a hammer or creak of an easel’s wooden legs. It was music.

He remained with one ear pressed against the door, listening to the melodic chords of what was either a lyre or a harp. A smile graced the assassin’s olive features as he perceived the muffled sounds of intricate harmonies. The song was slow, like something that might have been played during mass, though by no means was it mundane. There was a vibrant flow to the melody that contrasted with the instrument’s monotony. It ebbed and flowed, its bright timbre heard even through the hard wood of the door. Ezio needed to get in there, though he would have to accomplish without interrupting the song.

Even as he backed away from the door, the former nobleman could still hear the pleasant tune. Hastily, he skirted along the brick walls of the workshop, eyes scouring for an opening that would allow him in to hear his friend play.

Within seconds, he was already scaling the side of the edifice, up to a window that was thankfully already open. A few pigeons perched on the sill had left their post, replaced by Ezio’s strong hands as he pulled himself up to gain a better look at what was happening inside.

The assassin’s grip faltered momentarily when a light, velvety baritone rang throughout the bottega, accompanying the gentle instrument. The mathematician’s voice had always possessed a buoyant, sing-song quality, though he had never heard it this way before. There was a hint of rasp to it more noticeable on the vibrato that gave the younger man goosebumps. Even without lyrics, the arrangement was instantly entrancing.

Ezio peered down at the blonde in the center of the wide bottega, sitting in a chair surrounded by the usual clutter. Paint-stained digits plucked delicately at the lyre’s fibers, yielding the mellow theme Leonardo crooned over with a voice smoother than satin.

Before he realized it, Ezio was already climbing through the open window, leather boots grounded on the scaffold where the engineer fiddled with his more sizable inventions. It was almost second nature for him to enter this way; his footing had grown familiar with the creaky wood, stepping where the least amount of noise would be made.

Thankfully, it seemed that Leonardo couldn’t be bothered by anything other than music he produced with hands and from his lyric vocals. The blonde’s eyes remained closed as he strummed the instrument so naturally, as if this was a practiced ritual he committed to daily. How come Ezio never witnessed it?

The da Vinci never revealed that his talents fringed beyond the realms of art, science, and engineering. What other gifts was the polymath hiding from him, his closest companion?

Whatever iota of resentment over the prior notion waned as the older man continued serenade what he probably thought was an empty workshop. The other’s smile was nearly tangible in his voice, and when Ezio squinted, he wasn’t surprised to see the subtlest grin on his otherwise relaxed countenance. It was as if the scientist could feel the music he played.

With a voice as heavenly as his, the painter wouldn’t have had to blink an eye to put every minstrel in Italia to shame. Ezio would gladly relinquish his whole purse to hear the other man play for him again. The assassin inwardly cursed himself for not perceiving his friend’s hidden flair. It should have been intuitive, he supposed, for a man as elegant as Leonardo to possess such a remarkable voice and aptitude for musical artistry. 

Leonardo maintained his obliviousness to the Auditore’s presence hovering above him for several minutes, continuing his leisurely melody. Ezio remained in a crouched position on the scaffolding until both the scientist’s voice and lyre decrescendoed to nothingness, leaving a gentle echo to fill the still air of the bottega.

Silence fell naturally for several seconds before Leonardo opened his eyes again, still keeping a careful grip on the lyre he presumably fashioned for himself. The tanner man lingered above him, a subdued grin curving his scarred lips upward.

“You never told me you could play, Leonardo…” Ezio remarked, his gruff accent penetrating the quiet workshop. The smirk on his face was nearly audible, too, if that was even possible.

The inventor started in his chair, nearly dropping the instrument he held so delicately as he yelped with surprise. “ _Gesù Cristo_! Ezio, what the hell are you––does giving me a heart attack delight you this much?”

He received a husky laugh in reply before the assassin dropped down from the scaffold onto the stone floor with feline ease. Ezio gradually stalked toward his friend, pulling back his white cowl so the other could see his amused, chocolate hues.

“ _Idiota,_ ” Leonardo muttered under his breath, shaking his head from side to side as he stood; the scientist blatantly ignored his visitor’s hearty chuckles, returning his instrument to one of the tall shelves along the side of the workshop’s walls.

“You also never told me you had the voice of _un_ _angelo,_ _amico mio_ ,” the mathematician heard less than a foot behind him.

He shuddered again, whirling around in astonishment when he was met with the sight of the younger man. With a harsh shove, he scowled at the assassin, moving past him toward one of the workbenches.

“ _Stronzo_ …” he scoffed, adjusting the beret almost fell off his head when he jumped at that last fright, “You cannot just barge into my workshop like you––”

“How long have you played, Leonardo? How long have you sung? Your voice… _È squisito_.”

Leonardo’s temper dwindled almost instantly. He shook his head again, smiling to himself before turning back to his friend.

“Since I was young. I’ve been singing and playing for as long as I could remember, another beloved hobby of mine. I made that lyre for myself some time ago, just after we arrived to the city.”

“And in all the years we have been here, you’ve kept this a secret from me? You hurt me, Leo,” Ezio responded, pressing his hand to his armored chest in feigned injury.

“Hah! You are hardly one to talk about keeping secrets, Ezio...” the dirty blonde offered, “If it makes you feel better, though, no one else really knows about this one, either.”

“ _Perché?_ Half of Venezia’s women would fall to their knees to hear you!”

“I would actually prefer if they did not...”

“But it is an absolute crime to keep such a… a gift hidden, is it not? Your knowledge and your talent, Leonardo, they know no bounds.”

Leonardo sighed, reverting his gaze back to the worktable to shuffle papers aimlessly.

“You flatter me greatly, Ezio, but I am quite rusty. I become too preoccupied with my work and other studies that I tend to neglect music,” the polymath replied with a shrug, “I forgot to make time to practice the art.”

“Such a _perfezionista_. You play and sound beautifully, Leonardo,” Ezio reassured him, a calloused hand settling on the older man’s shoulder, “If you intend to keep your music a secret, keep it with me… _Per favore,_ play for me, while I am here. You’ll get the practice you believe you need, and I’ll get to hear one of Italia’s most enchanting musicians.”

The blue-eyed man let out a snort, craning his neck to look back at the slightly taller man. “Only if you promise to knock more often.”

“ _Bene_. I will,” the darker-haired man retorted, waving off the mastermind’s concerns, “Now, what other songs do you know?”

Despite his word, Ezio’s habits never changed. Leonardo pretended to mind.


	3. Fly

Ezio was never fond of weaving through the crowd midday crowd, especially not in the Floating City. Under the sweltering, summer glow, some of the city’s canals were bound to reek, giving off a pungent odor he would never grow accustomed to; thus, he settled for the rooftops as his method of travel. The sound of leather his boots hitting clay tiles, the wind whizzing past his ears, the squawks of seagulls as they evaded his unrelenting step, it was all he could hear. The view was pleasurable, as well.

Despite how difficult it felt for the Assassin to call Venezia––or anywhere, really––his home, the city’s dazing beauty rivaled that of Firenze. Its vibrant buildings and bridges meandered with the labyrinth of canals, so that no two avenues ever looked or felt the same. Even the City of Water’s more seasoned inhabitants could attest to getting lost on occasion. Ezio’s step never seemed to fail him, though, taking him wherever he needed to be. After a few months, the Auditore had learned Venezia like the back of his hand. Knew every turn, every corner, every alleyway, and he had to, with his “profession.”

He was coming from the Palazzo della Seta after briefing Antonio and his guild on his surveillance of the Barbarigo’s arsenal. Plans had been made by the Templars for a voyage to Cyprus, though he knew not why; more time was required for him to better grasp the scope of the situation, to find deficiencies in the garrison’s sentinel.

The cowled man had begun a leisurely trot across the slanted rooftops leading toward a nearby marketplace near the Basilica di San Marco. With a half-focused gaze on his gait to ensure adequate footing, he flung himself easily over breaks in the roofs, crept across tightropes that spanned streets.

Normally, it would have been more challenging to veer the Ezio’s concentration, but a fleeting glimpse of crimson out of the corner of his eye had earned his attention. In a stream of muted emeralds, blues, tans, browns, there could only be one cape so bright, and he knew exactly who it belonged to.

Almost instinctually, the Assassin prowled further down the city skyline, following that lavish cloak. Even in a crowd, he would have been capable of pursuing this target. The Auditore made note of the characteristic spring in the man’s step as he strode along the cobblestone. The jocose manner in which his arms swung made it easier to visualize his familiar smile, one that rarely ever strayed away from that fair countenance.

Ezio’s discerning gaze followed the inventor for several minutes, an intrinsic protectiveness ignited by the mere sight of Leonardo outside the safety of his bottega. The younger man had been so engaged in his pursuit that he hadn’t even realized that Leonardo’s destination was apparently the same as his own. When Ezio looked up, he could see where the growing clamor had originated from. Vendors lined the vast courtyard, their goods displayed for the whole city to claim for unfair prices. For a second, he had nearly forgotten what it was he intended to purchase.

By the time he remembered, however, he’d already lost sight of his friend. The Assassin hovered above the crowd, now perched above one of the tall canopies, inquisitive, bronze hues glossing over the whole marketplace.

“ _Merda…_ ” the cowled man cursed under his breath, seconds away from leaping onto one of the canopies above the merchants before he stopped himself.

It was just Leonardo. It wasn’t as if he’d lost a mark that would jeopardize his seemingly interminable crusade for justice. He still felt compelled, though, not having seen his old friend for just over a month after zealously shadowing the Barbarigo and his men. Ezio missed him, his incomparably warm energy, the familiar tinge of parchment and fresh paint that lingered whenever he welcomed him with an embrace. He’d pop into the workshop again tonight. One visit wouldn’t have made much of a difference; especially since been at this particular mission for such a prolonged period of time. Perhaps, a recharge was just what he needed; the polymath’s vivacity would suffice perfectly for such a demand.

Ezio chanced one last inspection of the crowd to see if he could catch a glimpse of the gaudy beret he wished to snatch off Leonardo’s head every time he saw it. A sigh fell from his scarred lips when he found himself unsuccessful. The Assassin reminded himself that he hadn’t come to the marketplace to stalk after his close friend, but to stock up on drugs that would fill his poison blade.

The Auditore sauntered over to the adjacent side of the building, one foot on the ledge, poised as a feline before he heard a spate of coos from below. Among the cooing, he could make out the soothing tone of a man coaxing birds out of their cage. Ezio’s suspicions were confirmed when he finally glanced at the sight two-and-a-half stories below him. It took all the willpower he had in himself not to burst out chuckling.

“Do not fear, _piccolo_ , I will not hurt you. You and your friends have been held in this cage for far too long, _sì_?”

The inventor extended his hands out to a frightened dove, coaxing it from the far corner of the cage. Ezio suppressed his own laughter when the painter began to mimic the creature’s cooing noises to lure it from its spot. After several moments, he deemed the attempt futile, sighing to himself. Still crouched before the cage, he preened the bird’s greyish feathers.

“Perhaps once you watch your brothers and sisters fly you will want to do the same. Have a look, then you can decide. I understand your fear of flying, of the unknown. Having a little bird like you sing in my workshop every day would be absolutely delightful!”

An entire gaggle of pigeons hobbled around the scientist, some of the already flapping their wings eagerly. One by one, Leonardo scooped each bird into his large hands, cradling them up to eye level.

“ _Buona fortuna_ , little friend,” he bade them softly, smiling before he launched them into the air; without fail, their wings fluttered with vigor, carrying them higher and higher until they rose above the rooftops. It was as if they had already known what to do even before they were captives in a menagerie.

A more tender sight had never graced Ezio’s gaze. He couldn’t help the warm smile hidden underneath the shadow of his hood as he looked down at his friend trying to get the last dove to fly. Its wings flitted nervously, allowing it to hover just above the blonde, though the fowl never seemed to muster enough confidence to keep itself in the air. Leonardo reminded him of someone in that moment, though he couldn’t quite put a finger on who. He was seconds away from leaping onto the ground beside the artist when the clank of armor at the end of the alleyway made him shift his focus.

“What do we have here?” one of two guards inquired, his tone thick with teasing arrogance.

Both had their hands lazily settled on the hilts of their sheathed swords as they approached the inventor. Leonardo remained, eyeing them with a pigeon still nestled in his palms.

“ _Per favore_ , I do not mean any trouble. I bought these birds with my own coin to free the––“ the mathematician stammered.

“You mean to say you wasted precious florin on something you wouldn’t have kept anyway?” the second guard questioned caustically, staring at the da Vinci with disdain.

“Gentlemen, this is a public market, a free one. Should I not be able to spend as I yearn to?”

“Hmph… Vincenzo, doesn’t he look familiar?” the first guard ignored his inquiry, “Aren’t you that _artista_ from Firenze? We’ve heard rumors about you, Messere da Vinci.”

“Ah. No wonder you’re here letting birds out of a cage. Perhaps they are all like this. Some _strani pezzi di merda_.”

“I––I do not know what you are talking about,” Leonardo tried to front, though unsuccessfully, holding the bird a little more closely to his chest now.

“Save it, da Vinci. Relinquish your purse, now. You’ll have a slightly better chance at purgatory then, rather than hell where your and your kind belong.”

“You must be ludicrousif you think that I would hand you my money over allegations made upon my name years ago, you must be mistaken. I’ve done nothing wrong, not even today, now _per favore_ , if you would just let me go on my wa––“

The first guard, Vincenzo, stepped forward, still gripping the hilt of his sword as he cocked his head to the side. “Do as you are told, _stronzo_ , or you will find yourself wishing you had been executed all those years ago.”

The blue-eyed man stared at them with resentment.

“… _Bene_ ,” Leonardo budged reluctantly, setting the bird down at his feet before reaching into his pocket.

When both sentinels moved as if to lunge for the innocent man, Ezio finally leaped from his post above, descending squarely behind them with little attempt to abate the noise of his landing. HE had had enough of whatever the hell they were talking about, and would not stand for an even a finger laid on his friend. Before they could fully turn around to face him, the Assassin latched onto their helms, smashing them together as hard as he could. After a thunderous toll, they crumpled to the ground, their bodies now limp piles of armor separating Ezio from his companion.

“ _Ciao_ , Leonardo,” Ezio greeted the older man with a nod of his head, wearing a subtle half-smile that the other was all too familiar with now.

“Ezio… I––I was not expecting you to––it has been a while,” the engineer stuttered before turning to see that the last dove had already flown away, “Must have gotten scared off… _Grazie_ , Ezio, I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve just done.”

The Assassin waved off the other’s expression of gratitude. “ _Nessun problema_ , Leonardo. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Without hesitation, he stepped over the unconscious men, reaching toward the genius to pull him in for a hug. Ezio had never initiated such contact before, and when it happened, it was difficult to tell who was more surprised; it was, however, easy to perceive that they were both equally content.

“I’ve missed you, _amico mio._ ”

“And I, you, Ezio.”

Their embrace was brief, as it usually turned out to be, but Ezio cherished it nonetheless. Something stirred in his bosom, a sensation, a warmth that felt somewhat kin to returning home from a long journey. He hadn’t realized he’d missed his friend that much until he was right before him. He wasn’t even surprised at the feeling, either. Leonardo and his workshop were like a lighthouse he could come back to whenever he needed. For shelter, for solace, for companionship that he didn’t have anyone else in the whole city. Ezio would always treasure what little time he’d spare with the fellow Florentine.

Ezio was the one to break their hug, pulling away only slightly. “Now, enlighten me on why you’ve been agitating these guards, Leonardo. That is my job.”

The other man shook his head in response, emitting an amused chuckle. “Every week, I like to come to the marketplace to buy these doves, give them a chance to find their own homes, instead of the ones mankind has wrongly built for them. God gave birds their wings for a reason, Ezio; those cages were no place for them to utilize such gifts. Everyone deserves the right to explore and experience this world to the fullest they possibly can. It is not our place to take away that kind of freedom from anyone, no matter how big or small.”

Leonardo smiled before turning away sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I also like to study them up close, collect feathers for my drawings. A peculiar habit of mine, I know, but––“

“You what?” the Auditore interjected, tilting his head to the side.

“I like to study the birds. Not only for their beauty but for their unique ability of flight. It has spurred my construction of the flying mach––“

“After that, you… You said you collected feathers?”

“Sì…” the mastermind merely replied, eyeing the man opposite him curiously as if he meant to ask, ‘Why?’ without actually doing so.

Chocolate hues fixated on the fairer gentleman momentarily as a grin crept up the Assassin’s features. He crouched down, reaching for a stray, grey feather left behind in the cage before looking up at Leonardo through his hood.

“What is it, Ezio?”

“ _Niente_ , you just reminded me of…” Ezio shook his head, still smiling mostly to himself, “Petruccio would have adored you had you met him.”

The younger man sighed, caressing the soft feather between his thumb and index fondly before returning his gaze to the man above him. Now standing, he took one of Leonardo’s hands in his own, pressing the feather into the artisan’s palm gently.

“ _Un momento,_ ” the Assassin declared before turning back to the blacked out guards.

A mischievous smile grew on the Auditore’s countenance as he squatted before them, hands already beginning to search their garbs for anything to loot.

“Ezio! That is wrong, you should not steal!” Leonardo hissed, though not without a hint of laughter in his tone.

“You will thank me later,” he replied, shoving a handful of florins into his small purse, “Come, Leonardo. Where did you find the rest of those doves?”

Only after they were halfway to the bottega hauling a cart with several cages of doves did Ezio realize he hadn’t even purchased what he had initially intended to at the marketplace.

“Leonardo, you wouldn’t happen to be able to restock my blade with medications would you?” he asked above the cooing with a shit-eating smirk.

Leonardo rolled his eyes playfully, holding the door open for his counterpart. “You think I’d say no to you?”

Ezio didn’t, though he didn’t say so.


	4. Sleepyhead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, hope you like it :)

The squeak of leather boots as Ezio stepped through the unlatched window made the Assassin cringe. Inwardly, he cursed himself for having made just an iota of noise. The Auditore’s hands extended before him, aiding him in his balance as he tiptoed through the dimly lit room. Dozens of canvases––some draped, some not, most of them unfinished––surrounded him as he crept toward the other side of the slightly dusty chamber. Vigilant, brown eyes scanned the vast array of works along the way, noting their nuanced intricacies, their muted colors under the pale moonlight, their staggering beauty despite incompleteness. Ezio shook his head; he never understood why Leonardo was so hard on himself to the point where he gave up on numerous, undeniably stunning pieces.

Ezio proceeded down the corridor leading towards a staircase down to the bottega. A pallid orangehue lit up the end of the hallway. Leonardo was probably still up, as usual. With everything the polymath did, the younger man still found it difficult to digest how little sleep the other needed, even with perspective to his own line of work.

"You know, Leonardo, you really shouldn’t leave your windo––" Wait a minute.

As he reached the head of the stairs, Ezio slowly realized that he did not hear the sound of a pencil scrawling profusely against parchment, nor the clank of a hammer tinkering away at some contraption, not even the subtle sound of a brush swiping across a canvas.

The Assassin’s brow raised curiously when he looked below him. Leonardo was sound asleep at one of the long workbenches, head resting on his forearm, fingers still half-gripping a charcoal pencil. The artist was still dressed in his full, fanciful getup as he snored into a pile of parchment beside his face on the desk, his inhale and exhale lifting the papers up and down onto the wood.

Ezio smiled to himself as he trudged down the stairs quietly, approaching the worktable until he was but a foot away from Leonardo. He’d never seen the other man sleep before. It was peculiar to see the engineer so stationary. Each time the Auditore had entered his friend’s workshop, it seemed as if he were a hummingbird, flitting back and forth between each corner of the room, each easel, workbench, and shelf. Over time, he had noticed a slight quiver in the da Vinci’s fingertips, as if they were dealing with withdrawals from holding a pencil or paintbrush. His eyes, his hands, his arms, they were never not in motion, even when he was simply speaking; the other’s need to portray his thoughts so vividly made him a moving picture himself.

In his slumber, however, the older man was still for once. Most people tended to look younger in their sleep; with Leonardo, though, it was the opposite. Of course, though, not in a bad way, Ezio acknowledged. There was always an unrelenting youth to Leonardo whenever he spoke or worked, in the way he carried himself. Asleep, though, when his features were finally settled, he could see the lines on his face more clearly when they weren’t moving. Ezio had always perceived Leonardo to seem the same age as he was, but now he could see the several years that set him and the mathematician apart. They were still both young, of course; having known Leonardo since his late youth, however, the Auditore hadn’t the time to really take in how much the other had changed. His facial hair was fuller, laughter lines and ever so subtle forehead lines more pronounced, brows more furrowed.

The architect’s dirty blonde locks hung over his arm. That caught Ezio’s attention in particular; he realized he had never seen the da Vinci without that damn beret on his head. His hair seemed long, delicate, and soft to the touch. The Assassin caught himself fighting the urge to pet it, his curiosity nearly getting the best of him. He couldn’t interrupt his friend’s sleep, not when he seemed so… tranquil, for a change.

Ezio had never really noticed before, but his friend was actually quite easy on the eyes. By anyone’s standards, of course. His hair, his fair skin tone, his beard, his long lashes, his eyes if he were awake, even his hands. The Auditore cocked his head to the side, staring down at Leonardo. How had he taken so long to notice this when it was under his nose for over a decade?

The Assassin was snapped out of his thoughts when Leonardo let out a remarkably loud snore. Ezio emitted a soft huff of laughter through his nostrils. Who knew that the great Leonardo da Vinci snored? Smiling, he shook his head before finally abandoning his prolonged gaze at the other man. When he looked up, his view focused on the velvety couch before the empty hearth. Without the fire lit, the massive room felt somewhat chilly. Ezio moved toward the couch, picking up the wool blanket dangled over the side. As silently as he could, he returned to where he stood by Leonardo, gently draping it over his shoulders.

" _Buona notte,_ Leonardo," he bade his companion, one hand lingering over his covered shoulder. 

Content, the Auditore sauntered back over to the couch, deciding that he would crash there for the night.

When Ezio woke up the next morning, he found the blanket covering his torso.


	5. Gift of a Friend

Long, delicate digits hovered over the Assassin’s naked torso as it rose and fell. Sweat dribbled down the side of his forehead as he mustered the strength to suppress another groan. His own fists clenched until his knuckles were white, short nails digging into the plush skin of his palms. Ezio could not take it anymore.

“Leonardo… _Per favore_ ,” he stammered through gritted teeth, “ _Cazzo!_ ”

“ _Respirare_ , Ezio, _respirare_. I am nearly…” the polymath trailed off, using a pair of scissors to clip the wire sealing his friend’s flesh wound shut, “Finished. Now if you had held still throughout the process, it would have been much less painful, _amico mio_. I also find it extremely peculiar how you find me sewing up your injury more grueling than acquiring the injury itself.”

“If I wanted to be lectured, I would have went to a doctor,” the younger man retorted indignantly, still catching his breath.

“Which you should have, Ezio, because I am not a medical professional. I investigate the human body, sure, but I must remind you––yet again––that my area of expertise does not exactly include practice on live individuals,” the blonde contests in a mild tone, reaching for the rag and bucket beside his seat with one hand while the other swatted away one of Ezio’s as it reached toward his still fresh wound, “Uh uh uh! No touching. I still have to clean it again then dress it.”

The Auditore sighed in capitulation, grimacing at the grating twinge in his side. “Hmph. The doctors could very easily give me away to the men who gave me this injury… Plus, they charge too much.”

Leonardo snorted, soaking the warm towel before wringing it with both his hands. “So you admit that you occasionally put your life in my hands because I won’t ask for your coin in return?”

Ezio shook his head profusely, sitting prone in the seat opposite his companion before regretting it instantly. “You know that is not what I mea––“

“No, no, no. I know, _amico_ , I know,” the artisan soothed the other like one would a frightened colt, gently splaying one hand on his bare chest to keep him in his chair, “I am flattered, and I value your company in any form, though I strongly prefer when you are not bleeding out all over my workbench.”

The Assassin groaned, though more in self-deprecation rather than pain. Despite the da Vinci’s insistence on being content with Ezio’s rather sporadic visits––more often than not during situations such as his current one––the younger man couldn’t help but feel guilty. They had both become so accustomed to Ezio’s stumbling into the bottega with God-knows-what kind of bodily affliction; the former noble sometimes took his friend’s magnanimity for granted, and it simply wasn’t right.

“ _Mi dispiace_ , Leonardo. I do not deserve your hospitality. You could very easily turn me away, yet you heal me, patch me up, supply me with your creations, and repair them when I get too clumsy. I cannot express how grateful I am––Leonardo!”

“Hands. Off. The wound. Otherwise, I will have to sew it up all over again, and I know neither of us want that to happen,” the Maestro chastised him after slapping his hand away from the sewn up lesion.

Ezio gradually retracted his hand from his side, allowing it to fall onto his lap, where Leonardo could no longer swat it. “I was saying, Leonardo… You have done so, so much for me. I owe you.”

A sharp hiss escaped the Assassin's scarred lips when a wet towelette came into contact with his wound, the unexpected throb causing him to scrunch his features inward.

“If we are talking about owing, you have saved my life on multiple occasions, so therefore, I win in that realm,” the inventor declared in a matter-of-fact tone, blotting the injury gingerly with the rag, “But it is not about owing, Ezio. Whether it is an arrow shattering one of your ribs, a Codex page, a blade repair, or simply needing a place to sleep, I will happily accommodate… Why, you ask…?”

The tanner man eyed his caretaker curiously as he wrung the towel over the bucket again. His brows raised in inquiry when the older man paused. Leonardo’s gaze remained on where his rag blotted gently at the marred flesh before he continued.

“Because… You are my friend, Ezio, and I ask for nothing in return, but your company.”

“…Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

Ezio opened his mouth momentarily to argue, but decided against it. Leonardo, too, seemed like he was ready to go on another tirade, though he settled on dabbing away at his visitor’s soaked wound for several, silent minutes. The Assassin watched him intently, almost as a distraction from the obnoxious sting that accompanied his injury. Seeing his friend in such a profound state of attentiveness was a sight to behold. The artist’s mind, for all of its volatility, had the potential to ameliorate anything, make anything more beautiful. Looking into his pallid, cyan orbs, Ezio felt something twist in his bosom as he realized that he was the subject of the da Vinci’s scrutiny. Discomfort would not have been an accurate descriptor for the sensation because he didn’t feel compelled to complain about it, though he did notice that his heart had begun to beat a little faster than usual. If his olive countenance had started to shade a light pink, he had yet to realize it.

Even through their intensity, Leonardo’s eyes still shimmered with the man’s characteristic mildness and warmth. Never had Ezio known a more benevolent, gentle soul, one that embodied practically everything bright in this world. His friend was as boundlessly kind as he was intelligent and innovative, and it was irrefutable in the way he treated those around him. Ezio considered himself lucky, having befriended whom he thought should have been canonized by the Church.

The Assassin couldn’t help but mull over the stark contrast between their characters as Leonardo began to dress his wound in silence. The engineer’s fingertips grazed over Ezio’s exposed flesh, pressing into it as they cautiously wrapped gauze around his side. A myriad of divine spectacles had come into fruition from those very digits, the same ones that healed Ezio time and time again, preened the feathers of helpless doves, lent handfuls of florins, bread, and fruit to beggars along the street, clasped together in prayer like any devout. How could one simply be so… good? More importantly, how could such individual align himself with the likes of a murderer? Ezio typically wasn’t one to question where he lied on the broad moral spectrum, though, juxtaposed with the unparalleled altruist before him, it was difficult not to. He lived off the bloodshed of men. For years, he had known of practically nothing else besides it. Leonardo, on the other hand, he flinched at the thought of even hurting a mosquito. Without context, their friendship would have seemed ludicrous to any sensible person.

“Think harder, Ezio, I dare you,” his companion quipped, derailing his current train of thought.

Leonardo chuckled as Ezio recollected himself, having seemed lost in space for a good five minutes. The dark-haired man blinked several times before returning his attention back to the scientist, who smirked to himself as he continued winding gauze around Ezio’s injury. His hands glided across defined muscles so casually, leaving trails of warmth along the younger man’s skin.

“Care to share?” Leonardo inquired, his gaze angled upwards at the other Florentine.

Ezio locked eyes with the polymath before him, tilting his head to the side. “How do you do it, Leonardo?”

“Hm?” The blonde glanced up from Ezio’s patched up torso.

“How do you remain by my side all this time, knowing that I’ve killed?”

Leonardo paused, a brief surge of surprise passing through his fair attributes, his hands momentarily hovering over the Assassin’s bandages. The air between them to stilled for a few seconds before Leonardo breathed quietly through his nostrils. Chocolate hues watched the artist as he pondered upon the inquiry.

“As much as I condemn the idea of murder, am I not at fault, too, _amico mio_?”

The Auditore’s brows furrowed. “How so? You’d probably go to heaven without purgatory.”

The artist huffed in laughter. “You said it yourself, Ezio. I create for you, I enable you to commit such acts. Your bracer, the gun, the poison darts, all of it. There is blood on my hands, as well… I admit, I have wondered about this, too, yet I do not find myself regretting any of it. I could not tell you why, though. I just know that, given the opportunity, I’d always assist you.”

“Obviously, I would not be able to do it without you,” Ezio responded, motioning towards his now covered affliction.

Leonardo finished dressing Ezio’s injury, paint-stained hands settling on the Auditore’s knees. “You think I’d let you sin all by yourself?”

A mischievous simper grew on the Assassin’s lips in response as he shook his head incredulously. “You never fail to surprise me, Leonardo.”

The mathematician shrugged smugly, a placid smile curving his brims upward. He retracted his hands, reaching for the basin on the workbench beside him to rinse them.

“With the creation of humans comes free will––as the heavens have dictated––and with free will, imperfections and sins are inevitable. _Sì_ , you may be an Assassin, but you are not _just_ an Assassin; there is still some of the Ezio I met those years ago, the one who carried my paintings for me. You are much more than your actions, Ezio, as we all are… Underneath the hood, you are a good man, and an admirable friend. Not many have the privilege of knowing such; I am glad to be one of the few people who do.”

The younger man’s expression softened as he listened to his companion. Suddenly, any qualms he had had about about people being scared of what he was and what he did melted away with Leonardo’s words. His friend’s affirmation was surprisingly all he needed. It was all that mattered to him. Ezio stared at the blue-eyed man with an expression akin to awe. How purely lucky he was to be in the presence of one who had compassion as interminable as Leonardo’s. ‘Grateful’ was nowhere close to describing how Ezio felt about their friendship.

“ _Grazie_ , Leonardo.”

The other nodded once in response, smiling as he stood to gather the mess of supplies he had utilized to patch up the Assassin. “In spite of my abhorrence to the idea of killing, though, I cannot deny my… relief, for some of the things you have done over the years.”

Ezio cocked a brow, leaning forward a few inches in his seat. “Do tell…”

Leonardo merely rolled his eyes in response, gently smacking the side of Ezio’s head with a clean rag as he passed him toward the shelves on the bottega’s opposite side. “Your ego has already been fed well enough for the week, _amico mio_.” 

The Auditore chuckled in his seat, still half-dressed, though not bothered enough to ask for a clean shirt.

“How is the pain?” Leonardo called out, returning from the other side of the workshop.

“ _Non è niente_ ,” Ezio lied, earning himself a wary glare from the artist to which he admitted with, “ _Come una puttana._ ”

“ _Bene_.”

It was Ezio’s turn to glare.

“I have a large, unopened bottle of wine that is taking up space in one of my cabinets. Perhaps it will help you forget about all that pain, no?” he continued, a roguish grin adorning his fair attributes, one that Ezio returned wholeheartedly.

“Leonardo, I could kiss you right now.”

“I haven’t even opened the bottle yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations (I should probably include those in my other chapters but I've gotten so lazy yikes): 
> 
> "per favore" -- please  
> "cazzo" -- f*ck  
> "respirare" -- breathe  
> "amico" -- friend  
> "mi dispiace" -- I'm sorry  
> "grazie" -- thanks  
> "non è niente" -- it is nothing  
> "come una puttana" -- like a b*tch 
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed this one! Please comment, kudos, bookmark, etc. and let me know what you think :) Thank you!!!


	6. Scrutiny

Nimble digits undid the laces of Ezio’s loose, white shirt. The younger man specified that Leonardo could do as he saw agreeable; he knew his close friend was a perfectionist to the bone, and therefore, his discretion would be first and foremost in this situation. Ezio was perched comfortably against the corner of a deep emerald love seat, the small of his back cushioned by a pillow of the same color as he gazed up at the painter. One elbow rested along the armrest at his side while the other arm was settled atop his bent knee.

“Hmmm…” Leonardo hummed thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side before taking a step away from the couch for a fuller view of the Assassin.

The blonde frowned in contemplation, gradually inching forward again while his thumb and index toyed with the hairs of his well-groomed beard.

“Leonardo, it is just a portrait, it does not have to be perfect,” Ezio attempted to appease him, inadvertently abandoning from his position on the couch.

“Gah! Ezio, you moved!” the other man exclaimed, throwing his hands up beside his face, “ _Sì_ , it is a portrait, and that is exactly why it has to be perfect, so _per favore_ , be still.”

The irritation in the artist’s countenance left him with the sigh emitted through his lips. Ezio couldn’t suppress a chuckle as Leonardo approached him once more. There was something endearing about the way the da Vinci exhibited his frustration; he was so gentle in his scolding, it almost seemed like he was pouting. If anyone knew how to push the inventor’s buttons, it was none other than Ezio Auditore. From lying about the severity of his injuries, to breaking and entering the bottega, to moving around items that only Leonardo would have been able to find in his cluttered space, to creeping up behind and startling the engineer. Ezio made buttons to be pushed. Any sensible individual would have had enough of the Assassin’s impish tendencies, but over the years, Leonardo had built up a tolerance specifically for him.

“ _Mi dispiace_ , Maestro,” Ezio purred in response, a brazen smirk curving his scarred lips upward.

The visionary rolled his eyes, unable to help a fond smile at his companion’s shameless coquetry. He shook his head, a large hand coaxing his current model back onto the couch by his shoulder.

“You are lucky that you are as charming as you are insufferable,” the artisan quipped, earning a hum of approval from his subject.

“I know,” the tanned man answered, sinking back into the love seat, his entire body splayed out for the other to readjust.

Leonardo sighed again, shaking his head before muttering under his breath, “ _Stronzo_ …”

Radiant, cyan irises fixated on the Assassin momentarily, envisioning his previous positioning. Within seconds, the mathematician’s hands were already working on manipulating his form. This time, Ezio noticed that Leonardo’s touch had grown somewhat firmer, indicating his restlessness for perfection. There was that familiar calculation written all over his freckled face as he gripped Ezio’s calf, just below where his breeches were rolled up. He parted the Auditore’s legs slightly, planting one of his feet on the ground while lifting and shifting the other ankle so his knee was bent on the couch again.

“Do you handle all your models like this?” Ezio inquired teasingly.

“…Just you,” Leonardo replied dryly, blue eyes scanning up and down his figure.

Utter concentration colored the fairer man’s attributes. His eyes, still warm and benevolent, were now filled with an intensity that Ezio only ever saw in the mastermind. It was there when he transcribed Codex pages then built their outlined contraptions, and it was there now as he guided Ezio’s hands to their positions with his own. Leonardo patted the inside of his thigh, motioning for him to relax the leg hung over the side of the couch. He continued this similar action against his side, on his chest, arms, and shoulders, until his posture finally sufficed. This went on for several minutes with nothing more than a huff from the older man as he focused on his model's form. The Assassin smiled as Leonardo began to straighten out the wrinkles of his shirt and breeches with his paint-stained fingers; he could picture the genius justifying the gesture, arguing that it was crucial towards the way he would have to shade, even if he was the only one who could see such minute imperfections.

When Leonardo drew closer and closer to Ezio’s face, the latter fought the human instinct to retract away from him to maintain personal space; thankfully, he didn’t, otherwise he definitely would have been chastised for moving again. The architect hovered inches away from Ezio, cyan hues surveying his complexion with something akin to curiosity. Such curiosity was reciprocated. He was close enough to smell the instantly recognizable scent of lumber, charcoal, paint, and faint lavender, close enough to count all the freckles on his nose. There were seventeen, to be exact.

Ezio hid his surprise when the polymath’s fingertips cupped his stubbled chin, tilting it upwards; there was something in Leonardo’s eyes that he was unable to read, and he could have sworn they flitted downward towards the scar on his upper lip. That recurring sensation in his stomach returned, warming him until it started to tickle his sides. He shifted his gaze, the unease––for lack of a better word––subsiding when he focused on some point above the other man’s shoulder. It didn’t help, though, when Leonardo’s digits carded through his deep, brown tresses, twiddling with the ribbon holding it together. They trailed down the length of his ponytail, subtly tracing the nape of his neck before allowing the hair fall across his shoulder. After the artist pulled back, Ezio let out a breath he didn’t remember holding.

“ _Perfetto_ ,” Leonardo breathed as he looked down at the Auditore, and for a moment, the younger man couldn’t tell if he was talking about him or his positioning… until, “This lighting is wonderful.”

Now standing at his full height, the freckled man smiled. “As I said earlier… Don’t. Move.”

He walked back toward the easel already set up a few meters away from the couch where Ezio lounged.

“If at any point you begin to feel your muscles throb with pain from maintaining your position for too long,” he began from behind the easel, fidgeting with his palette and brushes before continuing sarcastically, “I urge you to persist anyway.”

“Always the kindest, Leonardo,” the Assassin returned with equal sarcasm.

Thankfully, Leonardo hadn’t planned on painting just his profile, otherwise he would have been staring at a bookshelf filled with tomes on topics only the other man could comprehend. Instead, Leonardo had Ezio facing towards his easel. The moment he heard a pencil scrawl against the canvas, he knew his friend had begun. Several minutes passed in silence, with the exception of Leonardo’s charcoal pencil traversing the linen canvas. Occasionally, the creator would peek from behind the easel to gain a better view of the Auditore.

“Leonardo?”

“Hm?” the man in question poked his head out again.

“What made you want to paint me?”

A short laugh graced the da Vinci’s lips, lighting up his already jovial features before he returned behind the canvas to resume his work.

“Oh, Ezio, I have always wanted to paint you,” Leonardo replied, letting his charcoal fly over the linen material of the canvas, “You are my dearest friend. It will be for my personal collection, so that years from now, I may recall our friendship… And how you would look without the inevitable graying and loosening of the skin.”

Ezio failed to halt the humored smile that curved his lips upward. “They really do grow sappier with age.”

The golden-haired man unknowingly returned the smile from behind the easel. “Maybe so. I am just glad we have actually found the time for this. Especially with how capricious your schedule and––at times––mine, can be. I can hardly ever pin you down for more than a few hours, unless you are injured. Honestly, I would have thought that now, you’d be spending your time with the thieves or even at La Rosa della Virtù.”

“Ah… Not quite.”

“Too out of the way from your contracts?”

“At times, _sì_. But also, the thieves never seem to sleep. I think it is the aroma of Antonio’s _dannato_ coffee. Plus, Paola’s women… They typically have things they would like to do other than talking.”

Leonardo began to draw again, a smirk coloring his lighter attributes. “So… You are telling me that of all Venezia, you would rather spend your seldom leisure with me?”

“Well…”

“I am flattered, Ezio. I truly am.” Ezio could hear the other man cover his heart with a palm as he spoke with an exaggerated tone.

The younger man rolled his eyes, letting out a huff of amusement to hopefully play off the blush that shaded his cheeks. “No one does hospitality like you do, Leonardo.”

“You are just saying that because I won’t cower in fear if you walk into my home without knocking.”

Once the painter was finally finished with drawing Ezio’s complexion, he began gathering some of the shades of paint he had mixed earlier. By that time, still less than an hour had passed.

“This is the trickier part to capture onto a canvas.” Which, knowing Leonardo, meant that with him being the perfectionist he was, he would take his time with this particular piece.

“Would it not be easier to turn the easel so that you may see me without moving out from behind it?” the Auditore suggested, stretching the fingers on his knee slightly.

“I’ve known you for nearly a dozen years now, Ezio. That’s too easy.” Then, he begun to paint.

Deliberation backed every movement, every stare, every stroke of the brush, every tilt of the head, everything. At times, Ezio thought Leonardo would make a superlative Assassin, with his unsurpassed, observant nature; despite how tempting the notion seemed, he preferred things the way they were. Leonardo’s occasional glances lessened with time as he painted. Instead, he would simply gaze at the Assassin, almost exploring him with just one stare. Ezio could feel it, too, those pallid orbs fixating on his modest position. It was comparable to the way he examined a Codex page, or a dissection. At the same time, however, in all of their intensity, there was something almost doting in the way he took in Ezio’s lazy form on the couch. These stares lasted for seconds or even minutes in between conversation; then, he would continue to caress the canvas with his paintbrush. The Auditore found himself staring back, wanting to remember the other’s gaze. How kind, tender, and curious it was, and only towards him in that moment. It was not the first time he had seen those eyes look at him like that. It would happen when they sat across each other at his workbench, drinking tea together in silence, whenever Leonardo would clean his bandages, or help him put on his wrist blade before he left the bottega for an unforeseeable number of days. It was different from the stares he earned as he passed through the Floating City’s crowds. There was no judgement, no fear, no distaste. It might have been the way Ezio looked at women. He could tell that the inventor was really trying to memorize his features, testing his own familiarity with the Assassin’s appearance. Surprisingly, Ezio did not mind.

He heard the aficionado’s paintbrush settle before Leonardo backed away from the canvas briefly, tilting his head and folding his arms across his chest.

“Hm, this is missing… Oh! I know,” he muttered between several digits covering his lips, “I will be right back, Ezio. I need to prepare a few new paints.”

The moment he knew Leonardo was upstairs, Ezio plopped onto the couch. His muscles were unbelievably sore. They had to have been going for at least two or three hours without him moving an inch. It took all of the Assassin’s willpower to stifle let out a long groan when he stretched out his legs over the couch, letting his toes sink into the plush cushions, his robust arms reaching above his head. He glanced to the head of the stairs. Leonardo would probably be back in a few minutes. A mischievous grin formed on his scarred lips.

Standing from the love seat, he sauntered quietly over to the easel for a furtive glimpse of what the older man had completed. Ezio’s mouth immediately fell ajar. He could have been staring straight into a mirror. Each line and scar was there to see; yet, somehow, Ezio almost felt more beautiful in this way, now knowing how his friend perceived him, even if it was only on canvas. Every detail was given more attention than that given to fledglings by their mother bird. Leonardo had always been open about his bias for works that conveyed people and things in their realest forms, but this was the first time Ezio had ever been the subject of interest. The more he looked at the unfinished painting, the more compelled he felt to simply embrace the artist. Not a single soul could touch the gift of Leonardo's brushstroke. He was about to lean in for a closer look when the other’s footfalls were followed by creaking wood from upstairs. Like lightning, he was back on the couch; he hadn’t remembered his prior state exactly, though it wouldn’t have hurt him to try, he supposed. When Leonardo returned, he paused momentarily, narrowing his eyes at the Assassin.

“Hm…”

Ten seconds crept by before the bearded man shook his head, moving back behind the easel to resume painting. Only then, did Ezio exhale.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imma be real with y'all I was a little high when I wrote this jjksjkd


	7. Over the Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!! Been a while. Was busy with an internship over the summer and now school is starting to kick my ass. This series has been sporadic depending on my motivation but I'll try my best to finish eventually. Don't know how I feel bout this chapter honestly, but I hope you enjoy :) please let me know what you think!!!!

Calloused palms clutched the windowsill of the artist’s quarters as Ezio hoisted his torso upward. The majority of Venezia had already fallen asleep hours ago, though the Assassin already knew that his friend was unlike most of any given population. His assumptions were confirmed by the muted glow of an oil lamp streaming from Leonardo’s window. The toes of Ezio’s leather boots dug hard into grooves along the brick building’s side. Squinting, he could make out the painter’s lean figure reclined against the headboard of a queen-size bed, a mammoth of a book nestled in his palms. A pencil was nestled between his middle and index fingers.

For a fleeting moment, the Auditore contemplated whether or not the individual was actually his friend, for the head on this one was missing that inane beret. In the pallid orange light, it seemed as if his dark, golden tresses might be tied in a low ponytail, one that draped gracefully over shoulder. An odd-pair of round spectacles were settled above the bridge of his nose; Ezio had never seen anyone wear such a peculiar accessory, though they fit him absurdly well. His torso was also stripped of its usual, bloated garments; instead, a loosely-fit white shirt draped over his lean figure. It was untucked, too, something Ezio had not thought the polymath would ever think of allowing. Cautiously, he lifted his knuckles to rap against the cold glass of the window while his other hand steadied all his weight.

“Leonardo!” he half-exclaimed, half-whispered, his fist continuing its persistent tapping.

The artisan’s shoulders jolted at the noise of Ezio’s sudden knocks, his posture instantly prone at the cost of his head bashing into the wood behind it. The Assassin grimaced from the other side of the window at the loud bang; seconds later, however, he began to chuckle underneath the shadow of his white cowl.

“ _Cazzo!_ ” the da Vinci cussed, dropping the tome and pencil beside into his lap before turning towards the window.

With a vexed groan, he rubbed the back of his head, squinting at the source of the noise. It should have frightened anyone else, though Leonardo knew better. Who else would scale the side of a two-story brick building at such a forsaken hour? It had to be…

“Ezio…” the blonde sighed loud enough for the other to hear from the outside, planting his feet over the edge of the bed onto a wooden floor, “Do you _know_ how late it is?”

Leonardo stood, pacing just several feet to unlatch and raise the window. When it looked as if the Assassin was about to enter, he bent down, folding his arms over the ledge, chin settled on top of them. Even under such dim conditions, Ezio could make out the knowing look in those bespectacled, blue eyes.

“Quite late, I suppose… Though you clearly are not asleep, either, _amico mio_ ,” the Auditore quipped, quickly pulling back his hood while maintaining a vice-like grip on the ledge with one hand. It was only here that Ezio ever felt secure enough to shed that extra layer of protection.

Ezio put on the most innocent expression he could manage, a ploy that would easily charm any woman into his arms; it was the same face he used to convince Cristina to let him through her window. After several seconds, however, it became apparent that this trick would not work on someone like Leonardo. The Assassin’s brazen smirk faded into a pout. His arms were getting tired, and his friend was smiling down at him like he knew every single one of his secrets.

“I was reading, actually, until I was so rudely interrupted,” the engineer replied, a grin curving his lips upward; Ezio never saw that grin anywhere but in a mirror, and it was almost alarming to see it on his friend’s face.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Those spectacles weren’t making the situation any easier, either. The intruder noted how… suitable they were to Leonardo’s complexion; they made it increasingly difficult to shift his gaze away from those piercing, aqua orbs, ones shaded by the glimmering gray hue of moonlight. Those eyes stared through him so easily, breaking down Ezio’s boldness bit by bit.

“I just wanted to check on you, as usual, then I saw that you were awake because of the light––“

“As usual? Ezio, do you spy on me?” The teasing tone in his voice made the Assassin’s stomach flutter.

“No… No! I make sure that you are safe because you are my friend, _sí._ But I do not… spy!” Ezio hissed indignantly in response, “Not on you, at least.” 

Leonardo chuckled, tilting his head so that it rested in the crook of one of his arms lazily. “Then what _really_ brings you to my window at this hour? Joining me for a little bedtime reading on Democritus’ atomic theory, no?”

“That would make my father prouder than anything I’ve accomplished in the past decade, but I am afraid not…” The younger man sighed, letting his head fall backwards momentarily as he mustered the resolve to confess, “I need a place to stay. Just for one night, Leonardo, _lo prometto_. I will be gone in the morning before you know it.”

“Ezio…” the older man’s voice quieted, seeping with near-tangible sympathy; it changed almost immediately, though, when he continued, “ _Idiota_ , how many times have I _told_ you that you are _more_ than welcome here?”

The scientist was now leaning farther out the window above his counterpart, his own fingertips just centimeters away from the other’s as he questioned him.

“…Quite often,” the Assassin answered.

“And yet, here you are, climbing the side of my building––past midnight––like a madman infatuated with some woman who won’t give him the time of day!”

The dark-haired man did not recall ever telling Leonardo of his late-night escapades as a teenager, though it was not unlike the genius to perceive such things with startling accuracy. He let out a disgruntled huff through parted lips in hopes of playing off the blush that crept into his cheeks. 

“Well, you always get mad when I break in!” Ezio scoffed, adjusting his grip on the ledge as he exerted most of energy towards trying to test his friend.

The mathematician merely rolled his eyes in response before glaring down at the Assassin through his spectacles. The former noble returned his companion’s glare with a shoddy frown; he knew that Leonardo was right, as was always the case. After several seconds, the da Vinci pulled away from the window, leaving Ezio dangling from its side to retreat back into his quarters.

“Leonardo…” Ezio drawled in an already apologetic tone.

“Shhh!” the painter called out curtly.

The Assassin let his head fall back again so that he could stare up at the dark sky. All he could hear from inside was somewhat aggressive rummaging, signified by the opening and closing of drawers, the clang of different items falling over and colliding with each other, Leonardo’s sighs of frustration.

“Leonaaardo,” he tried again, this time receiving no reply aside from the continued noise of his friend sifting through God-knew-what, “What are you doing?”

Several minutes passed and Ezio’s forearm muscles were starting to burn. This was the first time Ezio Auditore had ever been left hanging, in both the literal and physical senses. For a moment, he simply considered hoisting himself over the ledge, into the artist’s room. The Assassin was too focused on tightening the grip of his now sweaty palms to notice that the rummaging had stopped, and that Leonardo was hovering above him once again. When he looked up, he was met with that same, almost impish stare; there was something in those deep, glistening blues that told him he was in for a surprise.

“Hanging in there, _amico mio_?”

“Hah…” he huffed, scrunching his face inward as he tried to pull himself up to meet the blonde with a grunt, “Good to know that you are as funny as you are intelligent.”

That earned the Assassin a smile so subtle, yet so handsome and disarming (particularly with those spectacles), and here he was, beads of sweat dribbling down the side of his cheek as he uncharacteristically struggled to support his own weight. Several strands of hair fell across his forehead from having exerted a good amount of energy to going through his things. The absence of his beret and the new––well, to the Auditore––ponytail gave Leonardo a more refined appearance. Recently, Ezio had accepted how… attractive his friend was. He knew that he, too, was obviously imposing in his own right and did not mind flaunting it, but with the painter, there was something different, something more comparable to beauty rather than ruggedness. He was impressed, though thoroughly perplexed by the utter lack of women in the da Vinci’s life in all the years they had known each other (with the way he looked now, especially). It was a question he would probably bring up later.

“I am not letting you in through my window, Ezio…”

Ezio cocked a brow, waiting for his friend to continue. They pair locked eyes for what felt like an eternity to the Assassin. If there was anyone who had mastered the art of persuasion and manipulation better than Ezio, it was the man he was currently gaping up at. His attention was diverted away from Leonardo’s slightly distracting, cerulean orbs, when something was placed before his face on the ledge. A key.

The anatomist leaned forward, settling his hands so close to the Auditore’s that they grazed each other. With their faces mere inches apart, the dark-haired man could see how perfect Leonardo’s teeth were when he grinned, how well-groomed and full his facial hair was, the evenness of his brows’ arches, the unbridled youth in his eyes. A familiar uneasiness in the Assassin’s stomach returned, and he resorted to shifting his gaze downward, which didn’t help much, when his eyes were met with a peek of the inventor’s freckled chest.

“You can use the door from now on.”

“Wha––”

Surprise overtook the younger man and he forgot that he was dangling two stories above the cobblestone street. Strong hands caught his wrists when he failed to notice that his fingers had suddenly slipped. The second he heard Leonardo’s laugh, he knew that the scientist would never let him live that moment down. Ever.


	8. Raindrops (An Angel Cried)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio's had a rough week. And it shows. Leonardo is there for him, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was initially planned to be the next one but i couldn't wait to write it so hope you enjoy! sorry for not updating in a while. life gets hella busy :( this one's pretty lengthy, translations at the end
> 
> points for you if you know where i got the title from (listen to ariana grande's new album thx)
> 
> please please comment and let me know what you think!!! leave a kudos if you enjoyed :)))

Rain drenched the Assassin’s cloak as he bounded over the tiled rooftops. The footsteps of archers behind him drew closer and closer, clanking against the wet shingles. Ezio did not bother to look back, he couldn’t. Not when the visibility was this dreadful. The wind whipped droplets of water against his face; even his cowl could do little to shield his eyes from the cold rain. It didn’t help that the sun had already set, either. He was almost blind now.

A sharp turn at the edge of the rooftop sent one of his pursuers tumbling into the river below, though the other two were still hot on his heels, barking after him as if he could hear them above the howling winds. It was difficult to tell where he was. The rain had begun shortly into the guards’ relentless chase. They’d been at this for over half an hour, and typically, that would have been a breeze for Ezio had he gotten any sleep within the last four days. Venezia’s winter climate was also not as merciful as he had hoped. It was times like these that made him miss Firenze.

With a grunt, he leapt across a broad gap onto the slanted roof of a chapel. His landing had been subpar for his standards, leaving him scrambling for purchase. Gritting his teeth through the pain of what he knew was a newly sprained ankle, he stood back up, hobbling over the other side of the roof.

“ _Merda…_ ”

With his feet firmly planted on the tile below him, he pressed his back against the hard slate. Hiding behind a chimney, the Assassin clutched his side, where his stitches had surely come undone. The guards were on the other side, he knew, but he just needed a moment to breathe. For once.

His brother would have laughed at him if he were there. Told him to stop being such a baby. That all he needed to do was get up. Ezio shook his head bitterly at the thought. Even now, it was a hassle to keep up with Federico. He was much more agile and clever; he probably made their father prouder than Ezio ever could, though the younger of the two would never admit that to himself or anyone. He missed him, missed running freely across the horizon of Firenze, missed having someone beside him as he ran away from thoroughly vexed sentries.

Looking to his right, he could see Federico. A memory so vivid, it had to be real. He grinned pompously at Ezio, leaning back against the tiles of the church beside him.

“Tired already, little brother?” he inquired smoothly, lifting his head in defiance of the storm, arms folded across his chest. He wore the same garments he had the day he died. He was younger than Ezio was now.

“Federico, what are you doing here?” Ezio asked in genuine bewilderment, his voice a silent hiss that contrasted the clamorous rain.

“What? You don’t miss me?” the longer-haired nobleman inquired teasingly.

“I, brother––”

“You’ve changed, Ezio. I am still the more handsome of the both of us but, life… has changed you,” Federico remarked, tilting his head pensively as he looked at the younger Auditore.

“Everything has changed, Federico. You were supposed to be here with me. Petruccio, had he gotten better, he would’ve been here, too… Father would never let Claudia, though.”

“Claudia…” Federico pondered fondly, “She is more like you than you know, Ezio. Headstrong, determined, independent, annoying––”

“ _Stronzo_ ,” The hooded man interjected, glaring at his older brother.

“I am just saying… Neither of you have married. Both of you are carrying the family legacy on your backs. Both so angry all the time.”

“How could we not be? After what they did to you? To father? To Petruccio? Mother hasn’t spoken in years.”

“Not what you expected after we raced that one time, huh?”

The Assassin remembered that exchange all those years ago, huffing a laugh through his nostrils. He would never forget, replaying the memory in his head, eyes closed. “Not at all, brother…”

Ezio looked out over the city before shaking his head. “I thought I'd be a banker.”

Federico snorted. “You? A banker? At least try to be realistic, _piccolo_.”

The younger one rolled his eyes in annoyance. “I hate it when you call me that.”

Silence fell between the two, as it usually would when they sat cross-legged beside each other atop their palazzo. Sometimes, they’d drop rocks over the ledge to startle passersby below. Other times, they’d stare at the moon and converse about the girls they had seen that day. On the rarest of occasions, they’d sneak Petruccio up with them when he felt strong enough. Neither of their parents would ever know; he would bribe Claudia with her favorite pastries from the nearby bakery.

Ezio sighed, tilting his head towards the crying sky. “I miss you, Federi––“

“There! Get him!” That wasn’t Federico. His eyes shot open immediately, allowing him a mere split second to dodge the arrow that whizzed past his cheek. He looked up. Federico was gone. He had been for a while. Instead, a helmed guard was charging at him with a broadsword.

There was little time to react, and all he could do was raise his bracer against the blunt impact of the larger sword. In an instant, the blade ricocheted off his wrist, bouncing down the side of the chapel. He ducked another low swing, thrusting into the chink in the sentinel’s armor with the other, intact blade. As he crumpled and slid off the side of the roof, the archer behind him had begun to nock his next arrow. Ezio’s patience had been worn too thin for caution. He lunged for the other man’s bow, snarling as he grappled with him for the weapon. When it was clear that he, too, would not relent, the Auditore rammed his head into the archer’s, stunning him long enough just to kick him several stories down onto the street.

The vigilante disposed of the bow similarly, tossing over the side of the roof as he limped towards the opposite end. Each step on the climb down was met with a twinge in his ankle, as was each step along the several miles of alleyways that led back to the bottega. Unadulterated weariness had replaced the short-lived adrenaline high, making his limbs heavier and heavier as he trudged onward. It was almost a marvel that no other guards on patrol had paid mind to him, especially when he was this vulnerable and burned out. He trudged somewhat aimlessly for some time until he saw shops that he knew were nearby the studio.

Ezio stopped in the middle of the street, letting the rain descend on him. He was alone. His brother was not there to race him, to ruin his hair, to shove him or call him names. Ezio was seventeen again in that moment. Like he was realizing the unfathomable had just happened all over again. The dark-haired man whirled around, hoping to see Federico leaning against one of the buildings behind him. He just wanted to talk to him again, to hear his voice, even if it wasn’t real. Even if he had already forgotten the way it had actually sounded.

He waited. His hood began to cling to his forehead because of the rain, his boots unmoving in a puddle that surrounded him. Nothing. The very people he fought and killed for, he’d never see again. And it bore on him like the weight of the world. The lump in his throat had built up as reality started coming back to him.

Letting go of the breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding, he walked towards the familiar workshop. As he approached his safe haven, the hooded man rummaged through dampened pocket, searching for the key that his friend had given him several weeks prior. Only when he twisted the key in its lock did he realize he was shivering, his hand trembling slightly. With some effort, he was able to push the door open, and he wondered when it had ever been so heavy in the first place.

The interior of the studio was lit by several oil lamps and the burning hearth beyond the vast foyer. A melodic hum told him that Leonardo was indeed awake. Just the simple noise was enough to make him forget the unbridled pain, cold, and exhaustion that so perturbed him. Just for a second. Then it all flooded back to him, forcing a sigh from his lips that caused the artist to look up from the canvas he had been engrossed in. The humming stopped, and those wide, blue eyes pierced through him with simultaneous relief, warmth, and elation.

“Ah, Ezio! You are back, finally. I was almost beginning to worry,” Leonardo greeted the Auditore customarily before turning back to his easel.

The Assassin did not answer––which wasn’t unusual of his naturally brooding countenance––merely ambling toward the older man so as to hide his limp. He stopped several inches from the painter so that they were standing shoulder to shoulder. The blonde’s head cocked to the side as he observed the piece momentarily before reverting his attention back to mixing the colors on his mess of a palette.

“ _Toscana…_ Or at least how I remember it,” he explained, continuing to stroke and prod at the canvas gingerly with his brush.

Ezio shifted his gaze to the subject of Leonardo’s paintbrush. It was Toscana, indeed. The green, rolling hills of vineyards met with an interminably radiant, blue sky. Houses perched atop a valley that stretched farther than any image could truly capture.

At that point, he wasn’t sure if it was the overpowering fatigue, hunger, pain, or grief that struck him so suddenly, but all he could do was breathe a faint, “Leo…”

The artisan paused before his work, blinking once before turning towards the Assassin. Ezio’s eyes fell to the older man’s shoulder, unable to peer into the bright, blue ones that stared through him so easily. He felt two digits cup his chin gently, lifting it up until he couldn’t help but look into them. Leonardo opened his mouth as if to say something, but remained silent, using his other hand to push back the wet cowl. The engineer’s gaze scanned up and down Ezio’s sopping wet attire before keening in on his face.

“What happened?” he asked quietly, both hands now settled on the taller man’s broad shoulders.

Ezio turned away, shaking his head slowly as if unable to answer. He didn’t need to, though. Leonardo knew. It was written all over his face. A burden of sadness lined the Auditore’s countenance, one that shattered his heart to see now. His scarred lip quivered nervously, and it wasn’t from the cold. The bags under his eyes told the mathematician that he had not slept in quite some time, as did the scarce vivacity in his now heavy, reddened eyes. He probably hadn’t eaten, either.

“Oh, Ezio,” Leonardo whispered softly, reaching behind the Assassin to pull him close to his chest, his arms wrapping around the younger man’s wet form.

The darker man allowed himself to be enveloped in the scientist’s warmth as he usually did. This time, however, he hesitated to reciprocate the other’s embrace, his shivering arms dangling at his sides. Leonardo only hugged him tighter. Slowly, he rested his forehead on his friend’s shoulder, breathing in his scent, the fresh paint and lumber, both mixed with a hint of lavender.

The lump in his throat gradually returned, threatening to reduce him to tears he hadn’t cried since the night he carried the bodies of his father and brothers down to the Arno. Tonight, he would let them fall. Let them pour like the rain that beat against the windows of the workshop, his broken, intermittent sobs a muffled thunder that bore into his companion’s shoulder. Leonardo’s embrace was all it took to disintegrate Ezio’s resolve, forcing him to let go of all the anguish he had gathered every day for over a decade.

One of the artist’s hands curled around the back of Ezio’s neck, his fingers intertwined with the Assassin’s dark locks. The other hand nestled between Ezio’s shoulder blades, rubbing up and down the sodden, white cloak. He should have been embarrassed for bursting into tears so abruptly, and for getting water all over his friend’s lavish attire, though he was far past the point of caring. It seemed that Leonardo did not care, either.

Ezio was inconsolable. His weeping rumbled from deep within his bosom, shaking his core as if he was being shot by an arrow over and over again. The Assassin’s face felt hot with tears as he buried it into Leonardo’s chest, his fingers clinging onto his spine tighter and tighter. He missed his family. He missed living without the unflagging worry that he could be killed at any second if he made a mistake. He missed the life he and Federico had pictured for themselves, the one that had been ripped from his hands so swiftly, so brutally.

“Shh, _caro_ , shh. _Stai bene… Stai bene_ ,” Leonardo cooed into his wet hair, resting his chin on it as he held the broken Assassin protectively, “ _Io sono con te_ , Ezio. _Sono qui. Starai bene._ ”

For some time, the bottega was silent aside from the crackling of the hearth along with Ezio’s stifled cries and Leonardo’s attempts to solace him. Though he had no recollection of it, Leonardo somehow guided him onto the nearby sofa. Even with how plush and comfortable the material was, he still clung instinctively to the blonde until he was crying into his lap, both arms wound around his waist.

“ _Mi dispiace. Sono così, così dispiaciuto._ I know you are hurting, I know,” Leonardo breathed, his fingers stroking through the younger man’s hair.

Not a single soul had seen the grief he endured over the years. He had compartmentalized it, denied it, and hid it deep behind the cowl. Justice did not permit him to grieve as one normally would when half their family is wrongfully hanged. His inner demons remained within, the fuel to light the fire of his now decade-long crusade. Not that he would ever let another see him as anything less than the brash, charming, womanizing killer he had become. Those who knew his story also knew how easily he buried his turmoil; he never needed to say anything for people to know he still felt the ripples of that one day when he was seventeen. Leonardo knew, and Ezio was grateful for the fact that he had never pried.

Tonight was different, however. Tonight, he was unable to hold back the cries for his father, for his brothers, for how unfair the universe had been to them, to himself. Ezio wept into the maestro’s doublet, the emerald cloth no doubt stained darker by his incessant tears. Leonardo cradled him to his chest, gradually rocking back and forth as he quivered in his arms.

“ _Respirare_ , Ezio. _Respira. Ti ho preso_ ,” the da Vinci whispered, pressing his lips into Ezio’s wet locks.

The gesture surprised him briefly, though after what felt like hours, he was finally able to listen to Leonardo’s words of comfort. For a while, Ezio breathed tremulously, his torso still wracked by tears that would not cease. The artist remained steady, keeping him warm in his arms, his soothing voice guiding him back down to Earth. Leonardo’s nose nuzzled the loose strands of hair on the Assassin’s forehead as he kissed it, murmuring words of consolation so softly, Ezio had to actively listen to hear them.

“ _Ora sei al sicuro con me,_ Ezio _. Io prometto._ ”

The Auditore did feel safe. For once. And it was all because of Leonardo. Ezio had finally broken down. Not because his anguish could no longer be bottled up––he could have done that for another few years if he wanted to––but because with Leonardo, he didn’t have to. Once he saw the tenderness in those cerulean pools, felt the strength of the arms that encircled his uncharacteristically fragile figure, he knew he could let go. He felt safe enough to let go.

After what could have been an eternity, Ezio’s mourning had been reduced to silence filled only by the occasional sniffle. He leant against the crafter’s chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat. For a while, he had no intention of moving, content with basking in his friend’s warmth. Leonardo had always been a particularly affectionate one, but Ezio now realized how interminably gentle… and loving, he was. His empathy was nearly as tangible as the hand caressing his cheek, thumb wiping away his stray tears.

“Hey,” Leonardo mumbled, his voice lazy as he calmly smiled down at the Auditore, “You are back.”

Ezio looked up at the older man, sniffling. “I–– _Mi dispiace_ , Leonardo. I did not mean to––“

“Do not apologize for being human, Ezio… Sometimes, this is exactly what we need.”

The Assassin sniffled again, his eyes reddened and still wet with tears that fell silently. “I am just so, so tired, Leo.”

“I know, _amico_ , I know…”

When Leonardo tucked several strands of hair behind Ezio’s ear, the younger man couldn’t help but flush slightly. Now was certainly not the time. There were those damn––for lack of better words, Ezio thought––butterflies in the pit of his stomach. He looked away, slowly relinquishing the painter from his grasp to settle beside him on the couch. Shaking his head, the Assassin sighed, hunching towards the floor with his elbows on his knees.

“Do you think it will ever stop hurting?” he asked with his eyes closed, folding his hands together to keep them from shaking.

There was a short silence, and Leonardo leaned forward so that he was level with the man beside him. Ezio’s eyes opened when he felt the scientist use his index to catch a teardrop along his jaw. They stared at each other, and Leonardo tilted his head as if contemplating his response.

“No…” he stated bluntly, pausing for several seconds, “That kind of pain, I think, does not ever go away completely.”

The Assassin nodded in understanding, looking down at his hands. Leonardo’s covered his a few seconds later.

“I would do anything, _anything_ to take away that pain, Ezio. But I can only do what I can to lessen it.”

Ezio smiled genuinely for the first time in days. “Whatever you are doing, it works.”

The smile he received in return was almost enough to make him forget that he had just spent a good two hours sobbing his insides out. The only thing comparable to it was the sun. Both gave life and warmth. Both seemed to chase away any clouds or rain in their path so easily. Looking at Leonardo, he suddenly wished he hadn’t pulled away from his touch. Only when he looked down at their hands again did Ezio remember that he had damaged his bracer. Again. The da Vinci seemed to notice something was wrong with it, too.

The Assassin opened his mouth and closed it bashfully. “Leonardo, I…”

“Used it to parry the blow of a sword much larger than it could handle, I see,” the blonde finished his sentence for him, one brow raised teasingly.

“No one knows me like you do, Leonardo.”

“Good. Because no one else could fix this as easily as I could,” Leonardo quipped in response, assisting Ezio in relieving his wrist of the broken bracer.

Once it was off, the mathematician held it up to better lighting, turning it at different angles to inspect the breakage. Turning back to Ezio, a subtle grin curved his lips upward.

“Sit tight, Ezio. This won’t take long.”

And just like that, he was off, flitting towards the back of his workshop without any regard to the painting he had left half-finished. A little less than two hours had passed by the time he had brought back the wrist blade with its improvements; however, it took a significantly smaller amount of time for Ezio to become a knocked out, snoring heap on Leonardo’s couch.

Leonardo shook his head fondly at the sight. “Just like the first time.”

Though, this time, he did not wake Ezio up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some translations:
> 
> \- Stai bene = you are okay  
> \- Io sono con te = I am with you  
> \- Sono qui = I am here  
> \- Starai bene = you will be okay  
> \- Sono così, così dispiaciuto = I am so, so sorry  
> \- Respirare... respira = Breathe, just breathe  
> \- Ti ho preso = I've got you  
> \- Ora sei al sicuro con me = You are safe now with me  
> \- Io prometto = I promise


End file.
